Scars of Survival
by LittleRin26
Summary: Some only see the pain behind a scar. For some they are worn in honor; proud badges of victory and bravery. For Lillian James Harper, they are a mark of survival. Every scar has a story, this one is hers.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, ect., are the property of their respective owners. The original character and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary: **Some only see the pain behind a scar. For some they are worn in honor; proud badges of victory and bravery. For Lillian James Harper, they are a mark of survival. Every scar has a story, this one is hers.

**Warning: **This fan-fiction is rated Mature for Language, Gore and Adult Situations. Readers under the age of 18 are strongly discouraged from reading.

**Pairing: **Daryl x Lillian James Harper

Chapter One

**~Give me a lever long enough, and I shall move the world – Archimedes~**

Miserable. It was the only solid word to describe—without a doubt—exactly how I felt right at the time.

My back was pressed up against the hard bark of an old Georgia White-Oak, my ass was fallin' asleep on the narrow branch of my perch and I was hotter than a whorehouse on nickel night.

All in all, this was not how I had expected to spend my summer.

It wasn't even close.

With that thought in mind, I briefly released my gaze from the slow running stream in front of me and down to my left hand. There was no ring there, but there had been at one time.

Before the end of the world I had a little ceremony in mind for the second week of October; I was gonna get married. This summer was supposed to be spent rushing around, looking at dresses, tasting cake and sending out invitations, not killing reanimated bodies and living out of a backpack.

But after the world turned to shit, it wasn't a choice anymore.

Everything was about survival now and I wasn't so lucky to have _my_ man around to provide the things that—I had not so long ago—taken for granted. Even simple things like eating or sleeping without the threat of scavengers or the undead were now surely missed. My man was not here to provide that safety for me, so I had to do it myself. It was usually easier said than done.

A bead of sweat tickled the skin on my back, bringing me back to awareness. The humidity in this part of Georgia was at an all-time high, or at least that was what I said when I internally bitched about the sweat that was pouring down my back and legs.

The air was thick, heavy and oh-so-hot. My body was sweltering under the copious material of my forest print-camouflage jeans and the reinforced patches on my ass, knees and shins did _**not**_ do me any favors. I'm sure I would have been more comfortable in the pair of soft cut-offs in my bag, but I had learned long ago that I would rather be hot and sweaty than to suffer the bite of one of the many snakes slithering around out here in the hills. It didn't really matter that most of the snakes in this area weren't poisonous, because either way the bite hurt like a bitch and would easily become infected. Then, of course, there were always…_geeks._

In light of the infection that had swept through my home state like a wildfire, it was the only sensible thing—besides the obvious **zombie**—that I could think to call them. _Geeks_: Those who are infected and rise after a clinical death.

I had—unfortunately—seen it happen myself once or twice, and I can tell you that the turning of a human being that I had once known into one of those things was horrifying. It was disgusting and I imagine that anyone that had the great misfortune of witnessing it wished they didn't.

It had only been once that _it_ happened to someone I knew, but it was still enough to make me squirm every time I thought about it. That was the day I promised myself to never let one of those things get the upper hand. Now, I just wished I had factored the nasty human race into that little promise; things would certainly be different now if I had.

It was just after the infection had spread to my little corner of Georgia that I got my first—up close and personal—look at a bite.

It was an unassuming and lazy Thursday night in Trenton, my hometown. I hadn't even planned to be there at the time as I had moved to Dalton several years before, but I had gotten a call from one of my mother's many guy "friends" and I didn't have a choice but to come home. My mother had fallen off the wagon once again, though, I wasn't sure she had ever climbed on the wagon to begin with. The point is; she had overdosed in her living room and it was up to me to get her settled into another plushy rehab facility in Chattanooga. Oh the joys of family.

It took most of the day to pick her up from the hospital and get her settled in for her new round of treatment. I returned to Trenton later that evening and spent the better part of the afternoon cleaning up my mother's house. After mopping up her vomit from the living room floor, I decided that I needed a fuckin' drink in the worst way.

It was surreal being back at Backwoods Bar & Grill again. I hadn't set foot in this place since I quit and moved to Dalton almost five years ago. It was slow but it was Thursday and Thursdays were always like this. Only the locals made the trip up the mountain but that wasn't anything out of the ordinary; the regulars came in religiously every day. Pat, Jack, Heidi and Shirley all greeted me with smiles and well wishes for my upcoming plans to do the one thing I swore I'd never do, get married.

Casey, the little blond behind the bar was as sweet as peach pie, but after several failed attempts at making my Digger it became glaringly obvious that she had no idea what she was doing.

Since she looked flustered as hell and Jerry's dumbass was nowhere in sight I decided to help the girl out. I threw on my old apron, which amusingly enough—was still behind the bar, I made up a few containers of Heidi and Shirley's Washington Apples so she'd have enough to get her to Saturday and showed her how to mix a few basics that I knew she would have to learn how to make working in _that_ bar.

I knew something was wrong when my old boss came shuffling through the front door an hour later. He was rushed and was carrying on about some crazy asshole takin' a chunk out of his arm. Something was definitely wrong, his appearance was…off too,…way off. Normally Jerry—the owner of Backwoods—was an attractive man. Almost all women thought so and he sure as Hell had enough ex-wives to prove it. Even at his respectable age of fifty-five I'd seen the man take home plenty of girls around my age. When he struggled like an eighty year old man to pull himself up the bar, I just knew…

He looked like shit. His skin was graying in some areas and he was white as a sheet in others. His arm—his bite—was forming thick yellow pustules that emitted an odor so foul it nearly made me gag. And the heat that was radiating off his body…dear Jesus, he was burning alive. I half expected him to combust into flames and turn to ash before my very eyes.

As the crowd gathered around Jerry—who was now bleeding from his eyes, ears and nose—I realized I was done with this town. I should have never came back in the first place. My fiancé had begged me not to go, but I knew my guilty conscience would eat at me forever if I didn't. But no more. Mama was always gonna be a druggy—she had been most of my life—and the sooner I dealt with that fact…the better. If she wanted to kill herself so badly just so she could get high, it was high time I let her. I was done.

I didn't say a word to anyone as I untied my short black apron and cashed out what little tips I had still sitting in the drawer from five years ago. I had plenty of money on my cards but I figured the extra cash in hand would come in handy. Nor did I bother saying goodbye when I grabbed my keys and hauled as out the back door. I had heard enough through radio transmissions and news broadcasts to know what this was; it just never occurred to me that the infection would ever make it out of Atlanta. I certainly didn't think it would make it to my little slice of heaven way out here in the hills. Apparently, it had.

I wasn't for sure what I would do now, but I did know where I was gonna start.

The drive to my daddy's cabin was a blur I barely recalled. I remembered that I tried to call the house in Dalton several times, hoping he would answer but knowing the possibility of that happen was not in my favor. He didn't answer the phone, so I left a message full of tears and told him how much I loved him, praying beyond hope that he was safe and that I might see him again one day. It wasn't what I wanted, but it would have to do.

My mind came back into focus after my mini-meltdown and I quickly got back to the task at hand; which was figuring out what I was gonna do. I had no intentions of staying in Trenton, so I knew right away that I would have to be ready for a long stay in the woods because I would most likely be going on foot at some point. The roads were already a mess when I had taken Mama to the treatment facility and I wasn't about to get caught up in that jacked up car jam. I was headed east. I was going home.

My daddy's cabin in the woods was just at the base of Lookout Mountain. It was secure property and had enough food, water, and natural gas to last me a good long while. Some folks might call me stupid for leaving such a treasure trove, but my man was all I had left in the world and I wasn't about to spend the apocalypse without him.

It was funny. My Daddy had been goin' on for decades that the world was gonna come to an end soon, so it was kinda instilled in me from the time I was a little girl how to survive. He had always been a paranoid man, and he made damn sure his daughter was trained and overly prepared for nearly any situation. I chuckled to myself when I entered the rustic room that held his armory; I bet Daddy never thought it would be flesh eating zombies that finally took us all out.

Then again, maybe he did.

My compression bow, a few rifles, side arms and my father's machete and skinnin' knives and my granddaddy's hatchet were the first things I thought to grab.

I packed as lightly as I could, but made sure I had enough clothes to get me through the cold mountain nights and frigid winters. I made sure I had an overstock of reinforced camouflage, thermals, long sleeves, sturdy boots, under armor and lots of thick socks… basically anything I could layer to protect myself from the prospect of being bitten. Then it was just a matter of loading as much non-perishable food from the pantry I could find, some homemade jerky and lots of bottled water. Then of course, I cleaned out my Dad's cigarette stash of both the legal and non-legal varieties.

My first couple of weeks weren't bad at all, and I only had to kill a few geeks here and there, but for the most part, it reminded me hunting trips and camping without the disgusting smelling men. I met a few families that didn't mind trading me the protection of the camp for a few hours of undisturbed sleep in exchange for some of the can goods or the animal pelts I had acquired on the go. It was extremely lonely during those times. Having to watch the married couples or young lovers snuggle by the firelight made me miss my man so much it hurt.

However, during my second month into the end of the world, I learned a hard lesson about trusting strangers. The lesson was simple: don't trust anybody!

I was so damn exhausted and hungry that I didn't even think twice when I met a group just on the outskirts of Trion. It was a solid group, easily eighteen of them or more. It was stupid decision, but because they had woman and children with them it never crossed my mind that they might try and hurt me, or that the woman and children might not have been there by their own free will. They were heavily armed, but at the time it just made me feel secure…safe. I was very wrong and now, I would be wearing the scars of that misjudgment for the rest of my life.

It might have been incredibly vain that I bawled the first time I saw the reflection of my face in a creek not far from where I escaped, but I couldn't help it. My face was ruined and I was disgusted by the view. It made me insecure and constantly question myself of what Daryl might think of me if he ever saw me again. From the time I had met him almost nine years ago, he always had away about him that made me feel like the most beautiful woman on the planet…now, I wasn't so sure. It was a stupid though anyhow, I knew he wouldn't say a damned thing about them (my scars) other than the fit of rage he'd go into when he first saw them. It was unproductive way to look at things, but I just couldn't help but think that a bride shouldn't look like the Joker on her wedding day.

It was obvious what they were planning for me and I should have just been happy that I escaped at all, with most of my dignity intact. I should have been thrilled that I killed one of the bastards that tried to rape me, but I just couldn't…not at first. I couldn't justify being happy, not when I would be wearing the scars of my own stupidity on my body forever.

It took me a couple weeks for me to become right with myself again. The stitches in my face were healing and about ready to come out. My back was still sore but at least it hadn't gotten infected. The healing of my body did wonderful things for my soul and I started to look at them in a new light. Yes, I was no longer the beauty I had once been, but I it was the end of the world…who needed a beauty queen. They were a mark of survival…and by God, I had survived. Those scars were a badge of remembrance. They insured that I would never again make so careless a mistake. Trust was now something to be earned and not easily given. No, I would never make that mistake again.

After my little self-reflection in the woods I did my best to steer clear of others—both of the human and walking dead variety. It wasn't hard keeping other humans away, any groups of nomads I had come across after I had my "surgery" usually stayed well away from me.

In my lighter moments I mused that my new face was more of a useful replant than I had originally thought. Before the scars I was often leered at both before and after the outbreak, but now men always looked disgusted when they saw my face and women would shield their children from the sight of me while they looked on in pity. I couldn't decide which was worse, the disgust or the pity.

It had been over a week since I last saw anybody, not that I minded. I had recently come across some prime hunting ground with a lot of fresh deer sign and I was in desperate need of some protein. Those bastards that had played Operation on my face had taken just about everything I had. I never did see my rifle or side arms again, they were the first things confiscated when I was captured. Too bad for those city-slinkin' idiots were to stupid or lazy to figure out my bow and my knives were left in the wall tent where I was tied up. That mistake on their part was what inevitably saved my ass.

A light crackling of the foliage in the brush under my tree thankfully snapped my out of my dark and depressing thoughts and brought my mind back into focus and back to the task at hand; which was killin' me some supper. The deer sign had been thick in this particular area. Hell, any dummy worth his salt could tell there was a herd close by. My target was a fat doe and her yearling grazing the sweet grass near the crick. The doe herself couldn't be more than a couple years old herself; judging by her size and the clear lack of instincts, and that was mighty alright with me.

Not wanting to spook the deer, I wiped my sweaty palms across my legs and carefully lifted my bow from its rest on the branch. I did a quick sight check and prayed like Hell that I was downwind enough not to alert her of my numb ass sitting in the tree not thirty feet from where she was drinking.

Fortunately for me she was blissfully unaware and she didn't so much as flick an ear at my small movements. Drawing in a deep breath, I drew my bow and lined up my crosshairs and released my breath just before I let go of the string. I relished in the sound the arrow made as it released, cutting through the air and meeting its mark just under her shoulder blade. My man would'a been proud, it was a perfect shot.

I'll admit, I squealed a little on the inside as I thought of the feast I'd be enjoying this evening. There would be a lot of work between now and supper time but it would be worth it to have some sound protein in my diet for a change. In the fog of my own happiness, I let my guard slip, failing to notice the sounds of footfalls drawing in from the south, I never even heard them until they were right on me. It was another stupid mistake on my part; failing to notice odd sounds in the woods was a disaster waiting to happen and because of my luck, it did happen.

I guess I could have blamed my mistake on the hunger gnawin' at my belly, and how I rushed because of it. I could even blame it on the adrenaline that left me shaky right after a hunt. But realistically, it was just a stupid fuckin' mistake; one that I had made yet again.

Still overcome with happy endorphins, I started my descent from the ragged tree limbs that had served as my chair for the past three hours, stupid smile on my face and everything. Then of course I finally heard the nose coming from below. It was the sound of a twig snapping, then another and another. Not prepared for the noise of walking feet, I startled and lost my grip. Before I knew what was what I was plummeting to the ground, my head smacking against a wayward branch before my body smacked into the unforgiving Georgia clay with a loud thud.

With a groan, I tried to right myself into a sitting position. It was a task that apparently my body wasn't ready for because my vision swam before my eyes and I fell backwards again. I tried to shake it off and made to try again but it was no use, I was tremblin' like a new born colt and my stomach rolled with every movement I made.

I could hear distorted voices in the distance and feet pounding against the ground, which meant they weren't those things; not that that mattered much to me anymore. Human or Geek, they were both bad and headed straight for me. I knew that humans could be ten time the evil of one of those things; fuck at least those things couldn't help themselves.

It might seem silly, but my last thoughts before the black spots took hold of my vision was how pissed off I was that I was bleedin' all over myself and probably dying while some maggot got to eat my dinner…

**~(Author's Notes)~**

Hello Readers,

First of all I'd like to say sorry for those of you that have already read through chapter one and chapter two before and are reading this again. Those chapters were not ready to be posted when they were.

For those of you reading for the first time, welcome.

This will be a Daryl x OC Romance set in an Alternate Universe. Some of the characters will be slightly OOC and some will be very much OOC because of the situations leading up to the outbreak of Walking Dead.

If you are a Merle hater, be warned: Merle is still an asshole but he's softer towards my Original Character for reasons that will be explained as the story goes on.

Daryl will for the most part remain the same, but will soften much easier due to his relationship with the OC.

This story may not be for you, but thanks for giving it a chance.

Thanks for reading,

LittleRin26


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, ect., are the property of their respective owners. The original character and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary: **Some only see the pain behind a scar. For some they are worn in honor; proud badges of victory and bravery. For Lillian James Harper, they are a mark of survival. Every scar has a story, this one is hers.

**Warning: **This fan-fiction is rated Mature for Language, Gore and Adult Situations. Readers under the age of 18 are strongly discouraged from reading.

**Pairing: **Daryl x Lillian James Harper

Chapter Two

__**Out of suffering have emerged with the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.~**

With a groan, I turn my head from the light seeping through my eyelids. Apparently somebody had decided that being butchered like a cow at auction wasn't enough and I somehow deserved this new and unusual torture. The nausea was fierce but the blinding headache I seemed to have acquired somewhere was far worse. My vision was still blurry but that did little to stop the small space around me from spinning.

"Hey there, you're alright." A soft voice coos.

My head started swimming again and before I knew it, I passed back out.

.

.

.

"_Christ!"_

_He grunts and peeks up at me from the apex of my thighs. His bright blue eyes are shining with mischief as he releases my clit from his lips with a loud pop. _

"_Daryl'll do just fine," he smirks, lowering his head as his tongue dives back in between my parted folds. _

_He's being a bastard and he knows it, but that's what I love so much about him. He tongue circles again and I can't help but cry out his name as rush of warmth floods my body. He is very good at what he does._

_If it wasn't for the delicate situation we were in at the moment, I might have been tempted to at least threaten him with one of my new frying pans that were scattered out on the counter around me, but I damn myself to Hell for stoppin' him now. _

"_Ya like that don'tcha?" It a rhetorical question, he knows it and so do I, but it was hard not to answer him when he gently bit into my slick folds of my pussy. _

_It was painful and blissful at the same time…_

"_Naw," he said, answering for himself. "I know ya like it like that."_

_Yeah, my man was a talker…an boy howdy could that man do some talkin'…_

"_Fuck, Daryl!" I screamed as roughly inserted two fingers._

_He ran his tongue in a soothing motion, down to his fingers and back again, making me squirm in anticipation. We had been at this for a while now, and every time I'd get right to that ledge of euphoria…he'd stop and change tactics. _

_His intense eyes cut up to mine and he smirks, tugging at my clit with his teeth. "We'll get there," he murmurs before burying his face again. _

_I couldn't really explain why he decided that deflowering the kitchen countertop was such a priority but he was adamant to have me there as soon as we walked through the door this morning. Either way, it was amazing._

_Rough calloused fingers and warm thin lips spurred me again and again until I was bucking wildly against his mouth and he was struggling to keep my hips pinned._

"_DARYL!"_

.

.

.

"So it's true then, you really do know that Hillbilly." A gruff voice startled me from my slumber. It's not all that unpleasant of a voice, but without even seeing this man I could tell he was he was sneering at me.

It took me all of five seconds to realize that the deep voice looming over me was real, which in turn made the reality that I was not back at home with Daryl hurt even more. It had been just a dream…

With that realization my eyelids flew open but my vision was still fuzzy and I had a harder time focusing than I normally did. My scan of my surroundings was the same; too slow.

My assessment—was that I had survived again. I was in some type of late model R.V., and was lying in a bed with bare legs. I was in this old Winnebago with an unfamiliar man who was large and watching me, and I couldn't see out of my left eye. The long short of it was that I was fucked and beginning to panic.

"I know you heard me, I can tell you're awake." If this had happened a few months ago, I probably would have spit out some smartass remark, but the new me was a tad bit more volatile than that when frightened.

My eyes snapped up to his and I couldn't contain the shriek of fear that bubbled out of my throat at his close proximity. His face was as hard as stone and close enough to my own that I could tell that his eyes were a dark shade of chestnut and not black like they would appear from a distance.

My fist struck out almost instantly, landing a hard hit to his nose. As the cartilage crunched under the weight of my blow, he cried out in rage or pain but either way, the fucker stumbled backwards, both of his palms cradling his face. It was all the break I needed.

Without thought my flight instincts kicked in and I lurched from the bed in my best attempt to clear it and the brawny man who blocked my path to the open door at the other side of the camper. I made a mad dash for the blinding light, my best chance at freedom. Unfortunately, the man had other intentions and tried to make a grab for my ankle. Thankfully for me, his eyes were still watering and the swipe he made for my legs missed. Still scared shitless, I screamed again as I tried to swallow back the tears and bile fighting to get loose within me. This was my worst nightmare coming true all over again.

The powerful light of the afternoon sun blinded me as I all but fell down the two metal stairs that led me to the ground. I was sobbing wildly by that time and could hardly see where I was going. It didn't stop me from darting around frantically, looking for any means of escape.

As the sounds of other men assaulted my ears, I realized it was little too late and that escape would be of little use. My chest was thudding like crazy in my chest, making it hard to breathe. I was bare from the waist down, I had no food, weapons or shelter and leaving here would mean no survival. So with bodies closing in all around me, I shrank back into the metal siding of the R.V., my eye still scanning for anything that I could brandish as a weapon.

"No one is going to hurt you," a voice soothed, it was decidedly male but it was older and softer than the bulking man she had encountered inside. "I promise you, no one here will hurt you." Yeah, yeah, Buddy…tell that to the scars on my face.

Taking a risk, I let my gaze linger up and away from the door of the R.V., trying to find the origin of the man who spoke to me. It took all of three seconds to realize what a mistake that was. There were so many people milling about and all gawking at me like I was the Snoopy blimp in the Macy's Day Parade, but what terrified me was the number of men. Sure, they had women and children too, but so did those jerk-offs that cut me up.

Everyone was staring at me with an intense curiosity that I didn't understand; like they all wanted to chat me up but were too scared to approach me. They stared at me like I was no more than a wild animal, backed into a corner and rabid. Hell, that was probably the smartest thing they could have done; I wasn't exactly known for my stellar sanity these days.

_Let them think it_, I told myself as I started to crouch, _make them scared of you. _"Stay the fuck away from me!" I snarled, which turned out better than I expected seeing as how parched my throat was. God, it was on fire; raw and scratchy like I had just swallowed a porky pine.

"Stay—

Whatever I had planned to say died in my throat instantly the moment I heard the heavy footfalls coming from inside the motor-home. It didn't take a genius to figure out that it was big n' terrifyin' coming back for round two, and this time I didn't have the element of surprise.

He lumbered down the metal stairs with a growl, spitting blood from his mouth and wiping at his watering eyes. With just a single glance I knew I had been correct when I had thought him gigantic, and I knew that there was no way—on God's Green Earth, The Pits of Hell, or some Alien Planet—that I could win in a fight against this man. Damn it, the man was taller than Daryl and forty pounds or more on him, but none of the really bothered me as much as the look in his eyes did.

So with the psychotic bastard blocking my last angle of escape, my flight or fight plans turned into sit and wait. I would wait, take whatever these sick fucks had to offer and then I slit their throats in their sleep. Someone was bound to get sloppy, they always do.

Shrinking in on myself, I waited for the other shoe to drop as the large, bleeding man I had encountered when I first woke up made his way to me. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I should fight back, do something, but all thought of fighting or running halted when I heard thundering footsteps sprinting towards me. Even though it was coming from distance and I couldn't see over the gauze covering most of my eye, I could tell this was a heavy person, even bigger than the man standing next to me. Panic immediately set in and the only thing I could do was stand there, looking for an opening so I could run…until I heard that rough sarcastic voice.

"Stupid sum'bitch, I warned ya ta stay outta there." It growled as came closer into camp, huffing like a fat man had just run a 100 meter dash. Without looking I would have known that voice, I'd heard used in many different ways for the past nine years. It was a mix of too much smoking and a deviated septum usually caused by drug abuse.

"Merle?" I cried as my head spun around—eyes darting in every direction—praying that I hadn't finally lost my mind, because I couldn't very well believe my eyes. Seeing that big bastard standing there like a tree might have very well been a hallucination; the Lord knows it happened to me before back when I was…

He smirked at me from his perch by a beat-up folding table, his massive arms curled over his chest. "Ya got it, Sugar-tits."

As soon as he called me "sugar-tits" I knew this was no hallucination, he was really here; a Dixon was standing before my very sight. With fresh tears pouring down my face, I charged forward into a crooked run, not even bothering to catch myself when my barefoot skimmed over a sharp rock.

Enormous arms broke my fall as Merle scooped me up into the one thing I never thought I feel again…a hug. It hurt more than I would like to admit and he smelled worse than a dead animal but I couldn't find it in me to really care. In Merle's arms I was with family…I was finally safe.

As I sobbed and wailed like a dying cat into Merle's chest, he laughed at me.

"Ya'know, little brotha's gonna tan that ass when he sees ya up and already pickin' fights with the friendly neighborhood pig?" God, is it terrible that I actually missed Merle Dixon?

"Daryl's alive?" I gasped, pulling back to look him in the eyes as I prayed that he was tellin' me the truth.

He nodded, his eyes shifting back toward the "cop" I had apparently assaulted as said "cop" growled and spit at the ground. "Figures she'd know them fuckin' Hilljacks. Bitch damn near broke my nose!"

Merle growled low in his throat as he set me on my feet and back me behind him. "My brotha told ya to stay the fuck outta that camper, but yer to stupid ta listen. So I'm tellin' ya now. Best stay away from her or I'll put my boot up yer ass."

The rest of the group gathered around us looked stunned, but I wasn't sure if it was because I actually knew the Dixon brothers, or if it was because I was on friendly terms with the Dixon brothers. Either way, it was a highly amusing thing to witness.

"Thanks for that, Merle." I told him, patting his massive arm.

Merle looked down at me, his eyes sweeping across my body as his face shifting from his harsh stare to one of amusement; which terrified me because I just knew he was about to say something embarrassing.

In a mock whisper he informed me, "Ya'know, Darylina's gonna fuck yer brains out the first chance he gets…he's been missin' that sweet ass."

My face grew red as I stared at him completely stunned. Not so much because he said something so lewd—this is Merle Dixon—but because for the first time in what has felt like forever…I found something funny and I laughed; a true genuine laugh and God did it feel good.

The others that were still gawking at us looked speechless. Yeah, join the club; if someone had told me a couple months ago that I'd be bawlin' and hangin' off Merle Dixon's arm like a tree ornament I'd have laughed in your face. But here were—Me and Merle—at the end of the world and makin' nice without Daryl being around to make fun of us.

"Lil!" The voice is muffled and a good distance away, but my heart stutters in my chest.

Merle laughs, "Speak of the Devil."

Suddenly, my chest draws tight and I'm not sure if I can face him so I duck my head. What would he think of my new face? Would he still think I'm beautiful? It was stupid but after so many years of being told I was beautiful…I was suddenly scared shitless that he wouldn't think so.

"He already got a good look at'em last night. He didn' take it so good but he ain't gonna care and ya know it. Ain't no use hidin' like a pussy now." Merle scoffs as he lifts my chin.

"Lillian!" His voice sounds frantic and I hope he doesn't have a stroke before he makes it out of the woods.

"How's he know I'm up?" I ask, pulling my face out of Merle's meaty palm as I start turning in every direction. I was nearly bursting at the seams to see his face.

"Walki's," Merle says with a chuckle as he scoops me up, spinning me in the right direction before setting me back on my feet just as my hunter comes barrelin' out of the trees, red faced and sweating.

He stops dead in his tracks as soon as he sees me and looks at me like he can't believe his eyes; like he couldn't be sure it was really me. Grudgingly, I couldn't blame him for it; these days I looked more like Frankenstein's bride than his. Using Daryl's rare moment of shock, I take the time to commit the image of his weary face to memory; after all who knows when we might be separated again. He was definitely thinner than I remembered, but I guess we all were these days. He was dirtier too. He needed a hair-cut, a bath and a shave…but he was still my Hillbilly Devil; all sandy blond hair and blue eyes.

Feeling a little bit more like myself with Merle snickering at my back and Daryl stunned like a deer in the headlights in front of me, I did what I've always done with the tension gets to thick, I turned to sarcasm.

"Cat got yer tongue, Dixon? C'mon now, what'd Merle say?"

Of course, Merle hoots like the idiot he is and mutters "mouthy bitch" under his breath but for the most part I ignored him; I was much too busy staring at my beautiful hunter.

Daryl's face lightens almost immediately at my smart-ass remark, his eyes twisting into something I could only describe as a mixture of amusement and longing…; which means he found my inappropriate comment funny but still found nothing funny about the situation.

Finally, he starts to advance on me and I sent up a silent thank you, because at the moment I felt like I was wearing concrete shoes and sleepin' with the fishes at the bottom of the ocean.

His smile turns up a little, his perfect little mole curling his thin lips just a little more than usual. It clear to me that he is beyond happy to see me but his eyes are on fire; he was pissed.

"He'd say nice fuckin' rack, can I play with'em?"

A tear slips down my face as Merle falls to pieces behind me, laughing and cackling like he's about to die. But I didn't care, a million geeks could be raining down around our ears and I wouldn't care. Daryl was so close I could practically smell the forest on him.

I smiled up at him, a little shyly; for the life of me I couldn't tell you why. Daryl and I had never been a shy couple, ever. We weren't that huge on PDA—unless one of us was jealous—but this, this was…

"Yeah, I guess he would—

Before I could finish speaking, Daryl pulled me roughly into his arms and spun us around. I knew why of course, the tears that soaked my shirt were reason enough; Daryl didn't do public displays of emotion, period.

"God," he whimpers. "Oh God, Lil'…" His voice is crackling and breaking under the strain of his emotions as he continues to rub my back and shake in my arms.

His head lifts slight, wet blue eyes taking in my face, making me uncomfortable under his scrutiny. _You know he doesn't care. He's not disgusted. He won't care. _His face is curious but for the most part, unreadable. He wants to ask what happened and I'm not sure I was ready for that just yet. I just got used to the offending scars myself and if I knew Daryl even half as well as I thought I did, I knew he was going to go nuclear the moment he got a good look at them.

"I missed you, baby." I tell him. "So much…" and then his lips were on mine, furious and fast like he might devour me alive to keep me with him.

Gravel crunches underfoot, immediately putting me on edge and I jerk away instinctively. I needed to know what was going on around me, but I still felt silly and foolish when I realized it was just the rest of Daryl's group leaving to give us privacy.

"Daryl," a soft voice calls to us, "um…she'll need to have those bandages changed again before she goes to bed."

The voice belonged to the same old man that had tried to speak to me when I first tried to make my escape. He was sweet looking in his faded Hawaiian shirt and bucket hat, but he looked nervous, wary to be speaking to Daryl at all.

Daryl only nodded into the crook of my neck, never bothering to turn and acknowledge the man himself, but really, the old man should be happy he got that much out of him when he was this upset. Usually—unless you were me—you'd have had somethin' hurled at your head, most likely Daryl's fist.

Without word, Daryl pulled back and scooped me up, cradling me like a small child against his chest and started stalking his way down a dirt path toward a little town of tents, an amused Merle hot on our heels.

**~(Author's Notes)~**

Well, what did ya'll think of chapter two?

I know Merle is really OOC but I promise you, it's just with my character…and I'll think you'll find this new Merle quite funny.

If anyone has any questions of comments don't hesitate to PM me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, ect., are the property of their respective owners. The original character and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary: **Some only see the pain behind a scar. For some they are worn in honor; proud badges of victory and bravery. For Lillian James Harper, they are a mark of survival. Every scar has a story, this one is hers.

**Warning: **This fan-fiction is rated Mature for Language, Gore and Adult Situations. Readers under the age of 18 are strongly discouraged from reading.

**Pairing: **Daryl x Lillian James Harper

Chapter Three

**~All men, even the most surly are influenced by affection. –Samuel Taylor Coleridge~**

My ass hadn't even hit the makeshift bed of sleeping bags and pillows before Daryl started in with the questions. I knew he would, I knew it before he even picked me up to take me to the tent; that's just how Daryl was.

All that being said, it didn't make me any less fearful about showing him my face or telling him how it got that way. From what I had gathered from Merle a few minutes before Daryl showed up was that Daryl had already seen my scars in the dark and that in itself had been enough to set him off into a blind rage. I think Merle and I both knew that his reaction would be much worse when he saw them in broad daylight.

"You gonna tell me what happened or not?" He grumbled, pacing back in forth in the four man tent that made up the Dixon camp. I eyed it warily; it looked like it would barely fit Merle let alone the three of us…

"Well?" He asked again testily. Oh boy.

If not for the serious of the situation or the fact that Daryl was pacing the tent like a caged lion, I probably would have giggled at the expression on Merle's face as his eyes darted to-and-fro exaggeratedly, keeping pace with his brother's body. The look on Daryl's face however, made me think better of it; he was already irritated as it was and once I said my peace he was going to be pissed beyond all reason…

"No." I told him bluntly.

His head jerked around, his frosty blue eyes narrowed and his jaw tight as he glared daggers at me.

"I mean, not right now." I amended quickly. "I'm just really not up for that yet, alright?"

He growled in frustration, running a dirty hand over his equally filthy face, but he nodded in agreement. I knew this was only a temporary reprieve and that once he did see my face no amount of pleading would hold him for long. I was gonna have to suck it up eventually and tell him.

"Lemme see." He commanded, his hand moving in to pick at the tape holding the bandages to my face. "Got'ta clean'em."

It was stupid really, the way my heart leapt in my chest at his demand. I knew it was only a matter of time and that it had to be done; my bandages were weak and already wet from all my blubbering earlier. So with tears stinging my eyes, I nodded.

Daryl nodded back, gulping loudly and looking a little green as he spoke, "Be back n' a minute," he murmured before kissing my forehead. "Got'ta see if Dale's got anymore tape."

Unconsciously, I blew out a breath of relief that I would have a few more minutes to get myself together before all Hell broke loose. I just didn't realize that Merle was watching me like a hawk and took my huffy breath the wrong way.

When I finally caught his glare, I barked out, "What?"

He just shook his head and clucked his tongue at me like he was scolding a small child, "Don't do'em that way, Sugar-tits. Ya'know he ain't gonna care about..."

His voice trailed off as he gestured to my face and I felt my anger and worry bubbling up like a volcano.

"**Really?**" I snapped, glaring in his direction. "And just how the fuck do ya'know that, huh Merle?"

Fed up with his accusing glare, I jerked the discolored gauze from my sore skin and pushed my tangled hair behind my ears, making sure he had an up-close and personal view of how much Daryl wasn't going to care.

"Tell me; How's he gonna look me now? Tell me how he's gonna look at **THIS!**?"

"Fuck…" he drawled, his eyes widening wider than I had ever seen them as he took in the jagged scar that ran the entire length of my left profile.

He brought his hand up, his finger skimming across the puckered flesh without touching. "I didn't think—

Suddenly, he stopped talking and cut his eyes toward the opening of the tent. I didn't need to hear the strangled gasp or the violent curse to know that Daryl was already standing there, obviously just having witnessed my tirade. The air was coiled tight with tension, damn near suffocating; like holding your breath while you wait for a delayed explosion that you still know is coming. All I could do was hold my breath…and wait.

Cries of outrage and pain echoed in my ears as Daryl fled the tent, strung together by loud cursing and the sounds of things being turned over and destroyed. You could barely make out the frightened gasps of that came back from the direction of the old motor home, but I heard them and I knew the other survivors were disturbed and terrified by Daryl's outburst. To be honest, so was I. I had seen Daryl lose his cool many times over the years, but right now, I didn't even know what to make of him.

With a growl, Merle surged to his feet and darted out the door, yelling for Daryl to control himself. He and I both knew that Daryl "controlling himself" at this point was a pretty useless thing to say, but it got the desired effect that I knew both Dixon boys needed.

Like I expected, the sounds of scuffling and flesh pounding on flesh soon met my ears; a subtle heads-up that I would be patching up one if not both of them when they returned. I hated it when they fought, I always had, but this was something they needed. Neither one of them had an easy childhood, far from it…but this was how they dealt with each other…this was how they showed the other that they cared. Was it wrong that I hoped Daryl would get a couple of good licks in for ol' time's sake? Merle would certainly deserve it just for some of the shit he's pulled since I've known him, never mind Daryl's childhood.

After reminding myself that the boys used to do this all the time and that they would never purposefully hurt each other, I started chanting to myself that Daryl's reaction to my face was anger…not rejection. Rationally, I knew better to even think something so…dumb, but it was just one of those things that was easier said than done.

Merle returned a little later with busted lip and what I was sure to be a descent shiner in the morning, his clothes were ruffled but he really was no worse for wear.

"Boy had to think some shit out." He said plainly, taking up the seat across from me and handed me a bottle of Wild Turkey. "He didn't want ya ta see him all tore up."

While I hated the thought of Daryl out in the woods fellin' trees—or whatever he was doing to calm his anger, I totally understood. Daryl Dixon had never been a man who handled his emotions well—especially fear—and believe it or not, Daryl's temper had always been worse than Merle's, it was just hidden behind Merle's dirty mouth and bad attitude. But bad temper or not, Daryl was a good ol' boy, raised up on the strong belief that men took care of their "own", and because of that, I knew he blamed himself for what happened to me; that he felt like a failure. It was very fucked up, but very true.

It was after dark when Daryl ducked through the tent door again, looking worn out and distraught, though, he smiled instantly the moment he saw what Merle and I were up to.

Merle, bless his junky heart, practically shoved pain-pills down my throat the minute Daryl was out the door, and then he told me to clean up. As reluctant as I was to go out near the others again, I did what he asked and took a whores bath in Dale's R.V. and met some more of the other survivors before returning back to the tent with a deck of cards I pilfered and suggested a friendly game.

A friendly game of cards?...with Merle? Yeah, that shit didn't last long.

No sooner than the suggestion was out of my mouth did Merle get this gleam in his eyes and ran out of the tent, calling over his shoulder that he'd be right back.

Well, at least he didn't suggest strip poker. But then again, what fun would it have been without Daryl there to get pissed.

Sitting Indian style, I swayed in front of Merle was I tried to focus on the cards in my hands and not on the fact that I was shit-canned drunk. Trying my hand at kicking Merle's ass at poker probably wasn't the best plan while sober. Trying it drunk and high on pain-pills was just asking for trouble; but I still felt a little more like myself.

Daryl sat behind me, his knees cradling my sides as he pulled my back to his chest and resting his chin on my shoulder, most likely to peek at my hand. He chuckled when he say my three aces and kissed my cheek.

"Call," I slurred. Yeah, the odds were definitely in my favor.

Even with the slightly blurred vision, I cocked a brow in Merle's direction, hoping to see something hiding behind his perfect poker face. I was about a hundred pennies up but I was stupidly inebriated. He just smirked at me.

Damn, I knew better than to play against a shark like Merle. I was doomed to failure from the start.

Merle's face scrunched up as if he was deeply concentrating before taking a deep pull off the bottle of Turkey we'd been sippin' on since the game started and passing it to Daryl.

"Lay down, beautiful," Merle replied a moment later, his voice husky and the twinkle in his eye was asking for trouble. At first I was confused by the action, usually Merle reserved this side of himself for wooing bar pussy...Ah.

Daryl growled from behind me and suddenly everything made sense again. Merle—as always—was trying to rattle his little brother. What a jealous pig. For fucks sake, this was Merle Dixon not Norman Reedus. Irritated by their male posturing, I elbowed Daryl in the ribs and told him to hush-up.

"Three aces," I cheered childishly, happily slapping my cards out on front of me with a smug smile.

Merle's face fell dramatically, making me giggle and taunt the large man that could snap my neck if so inclined—not that he'd do it. Daryl snorted behind me and scolded me for counting my chickens before they hatched.

Maturely, I stuck my tongue out at him as a response.

Honestly, I couldn't help myself. I had always been a competitive person and playing anything against a Dixon was a challenge in my mind. Winning was even better.

Merle tsk'd at me as he began to lay down his hand and I watched entranced as his thick fingers began reveling his cards. My heart stuttered in my chest with each snick of the slickly-laminated card moving with a deliberate slowness as he slapped each card on the rotting piece of plywood we had made our table.

My eyes widened as each of the largely depicted characters came into focus.

Ten of Hearts.

Jack of Hearts.

Queen of Hearts.

King of Hearts.

"Awe, poor Merle." I jeered sarcastically, reveling in the sound of Daryl snickering as I stomped his brother at something.

Or so I thought…

"Shut-up, girly, I ain't done yet." Merle chuckled as he tossed his last card out onto the floor at my knees. It was then I remembered that I had only counted four cards when I began my preening…damnit!

The Ace of fuckin' Hearts.

"A royal flush…" I murmured.

"Fuck!" I cried, throwing my hands in the air and nearly smacking Daryl in the face as flailed around drunkenly.

Merle bellowed loudly as he dramatically scooped up all his winning—Pennies that he had collected off the floor of Daryl's truck—into his ever growing pile by his stash of pills.

Daryl was shaking hard behind me, laughing at me but trying not to make a sound.

"Go ahead and laugh, all the shaking gave yer redneck ass away anyhow."

And he did, yowling loudly as he tried to hug me. I elbowed him again. "Yer supposed to be on my side."

He only laughed harder, falling over to his side and taking me with him. "Quit yer cry-assin', woman. He beat ya fair n' square."

"Say's you," I replied spitefully, nudging him in the shoulder as I continued to pout. "How do I know you two weren't in on it together?"

He snorted, kissing the side of my head. "Ya know I ain't no cheater."

Yes, I did know that…but in the moment I was less inclined to care. I had been living like a man for the longest time; wiping my ass with leaves, bathing in creeks and under waterfalls. So for the night, I thought I was entitled to cry-ass like the woman I was.

I yawned loudly, trying to fight off sleep but knowing there wasn't much of a point.

Daryl chuckled, "How ya expect me to merry ya when ya can't even hold yer drink. Yer a Dixon, woman, suck it up."

His tease was very Daryl so I expected it. However what I didn't expect was for Merle to come to my defense.

"Shut up, piss-ant. The shit I got'er on would have ya ballin' in the corner." I looked at my brother-in-law, eyebrow raised in question. He just winked at me and shrugged. I guess the Dixon boys missed me more than I had originally thought.

Daryl scoffed at the sight, and scolded Merle under his breath about giving me something to strong with my condition. I wanted to roll my eyes at him for the absurdity, but I held myself together.

"Sleepy?" Daryl asked when I yawned again, pulling me closer to him despite the fact that it was boiling inside the tent already.

I nodded, fighting back another yawn and curled into his side.

It was late and despite the fact that I was sandwiched between two sweltering, sweaty bodies, I had already dosed on and off for a while. While I had entertained Merle as a houseguest more times than I could ever count, I'd never thought I would see the day where I would have to sleep next to his rank ass. Nevertheless, both men were adamant about the sleeping arrangements and I was too goofy from the morphine in my system to come up with a good argument.

It was a good idea; safety in numbers and all that. Well, it was either that or they didn't trust my ability to react should we be attacked. As much as the caveman thing usually bristled my backside, I bit my tongue and let the boys have their way. It wouldn't have done a lick of good to argue and the pills Merle had me on had me lying limp like a rag doll anyway.

I giggled to myself as the thought I had earlier of the end of the world being like huntin' camp resurfaced. It was true; stinky man—and in this case women—cramped quarters, and predators. Only instead of worryin' about cougars—like normal—it was flesh eatin' zombies that kept ya up at night.

Suddenly, one of Merle's massive legs flew over my waist, nearly crushing me beneath it and startling me half to death.

"God, Merle! Move yer fat ass over!" I grunted, shoving him over as roughly as I could. The man didn't budge a bit.

Merle snorted out a little laugh, moving over as little as he could. "Have ya always been this much of a bitch?"

"Yep." My slurred response came with no hesitation.

"God, ya'll ever shut up?" Daryl grouched, pulling me closer, burrowing his face in my back.

"Well G'night, Merle," I yawned again lightly, then for the hell of it I nudged Daryl.

"G'night, Darylina."

"Shut up, woman." Daryl grunted but Merle was bellowing so hard the whole damn tent started to shake.

After a few "Shut-up!"s from camp, Daryl growled and stuck his head out of the tent and yelled "Fuck ya'll!"

Of course that only made Merle and I laughed harder.

"See brother," Merle snickered when everyone had calmed down, "I always told ya she was a mouthy bitch."

"Love you, too, Merle." I told him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, ect., are the property of their respective owners. The original character and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary: **Some only see the pain behind a scar. For some they are worn in honor; proud badges of victory and bravery. For Lillian James Harper, they are a mark of survival. Every scar has a story, this one is hers.

**Warning: **This fan-fiction is rated Mature for Language, Gore and Adult Situations. Readers under the age of 18 are strongly discouraged from reading.

**Pairing: **Daryl x Lillian James Harper

Chapter Four

**~Anyone can be passionate, but it takes real lovers to be silly. –Rose Franken~**

The next morning I woke up to what had to be the most foul smell I had encountered in a good long while…and that was saying something considering how bad walkers smell.

It took me less than a minute to figure out what it was and by then I was already untangling myself from Daryl's legs and booking it for the door, making sure I kicked Merle extra hard on my way out.

As soon as I had the tent flap open I threw my upper body out, taking a deep pull at the fresh morning air, praying to all things Holy that the smell inside didn't linger too long 'cause I wasn't exactly dressed to be outside yet. Though, I wouldn't have given a care if I was lying naked on the White House lawn, that shit smelled awful.

Lying on my back with my legs still inside the tent, I laughed at the absurdity of the moment. Here I was in the middle of the apocalypse and I was still tryin' to outrun my brother-in-law's farts; God help me.

A rough but warm hand encircled my ankle before I heard rustling inside the tent, followed by Daryl's sleep rough voice. "Babe?"

He sounded all kinds of cute and disoriented and it made me want to kick the shit out of Merle all the more. Daryl was so damn hot first thing in the mornin' and Merle made me miss it.

"Out here." I tell him softly, trying not to giggle because I know it's only a matter of time before he realizes why I'm out here in the first place.

"What are ya—_awe fuck!_ Merle!" He bellows and Merle—as expected—starts to laugh. I swear that man is like an overgrown five-year-old; he'd do anything to get Daryl riled up. Ass-hat!

Next thing I knew, Daryl is hovering above me, his delicious weight pressing into me as he scowls down at me sleepily. "Fuckin' bastard. Ya see what I've had ta live with?"

"Awe, my poor baby," I coo at him as I lean up to place a tender kiss to his scruffy jaw. "Ya want Mama ta make it better?"

He smirked down at me, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he captures my lips in a good morning greeting. The kiss isn't overly sexual but I'd be damned if I said it lacked any heat…of course that was before I started giggling.

Pulling back, he looks down at me confused, "What the hell ya laughin' at, woman?"

Still trying not to laugh overly loud, I fill him in. "Maybe we could bottle the smell, use it as walker repellant or somethin'. There's no way they'd think we were fresh if they gotta whiff of that. We could be the millionaires of the apocalypse."

He growls playfully as he buries his face in my shoulder, nipping at it lightly. "God I love it when yer mean, so sexy."

"_Ya'know,_ _I_ **can** _hear ya'll._" Merle gripes as the tent ruffles around.

"Good," we both yell, laughing as Merle mocks us with a falsetto voice.

Daryl leans down and kisses me again, laughing against my lips as Merle continues to moan and groan from inside the tent. _"Ooooh Darylina!" _he'd wail, then switch to teasing Daryl about how fine my ass was. Despite Merle's attempts to start a fight the kiss continued, slow and quickly bordering on inappropriate in public, but this was my Daryl and we could have been in the middle of the Coliseum for all I cared.

Suddenly Daryl stiffened as a large shadow fell over us just about the time someone cleared their throat.

"Can I help you, Officer Walsh?" I asked as I smiled up at the man from underneath Daryl.

With a sneer set firmly on his face, Shane informed us—none too kindly—that if Merle was going on the scavenging trip into the city that had to, and I quote: "Get his ass up." Of course that pissed Daryl off—both that Merle was going and that Shane was a dick—and I can't say I liked it either; but Merle is stubborn and we both knew that.

After Shane's little visit, it became glaring obvious that my day was gonna suck, especially after Daryl informed me that he would be huntin' today and I would be left here with these strangers. I tried everything in my arsenal to persuade him not to go…Hell, sex would have normally worked but this time Daryl was unmovable. He was adamant that I get some more meat on my bones; apparently I had lost more weight than he was comfortable with since the end of the world.

**~Grief is the price we pay for love. –Queen Elizabeth ll~**

It was around 3:00pm or so—if I had to hazard a guess—and even though I missed my wild man, I wasn't miserable. I had taken to stringing up some tin cans—a warning for geeks—with a really nice man named Jim.

Daryl wasn't back yet but that wasn't too uncommon, especially for him. Honestly, if he'd gotten on the trail of something big we most likely wouldn't see him again until he bagged it. Did I like him out there in the woods all by himself? Absolutely not; but I knew Daryl and this was just something he felt he had to do.

After a little while I decided to go an help the women fix supper—and as I expected, the questions started, but I was only slightly surprised when they didn't ask about my face.

It started with Lori.

"So you and Dixon's, how'd that happen?" She asked with a slight chuckle. At first, I bristled, already having a fair idea of what everyone here thought of the boys.

"I met him in the bar I was workin' in…well, I met Merle first." I said, my nose crinkling in distaste at the memory.

"That bad?" Carol asked, chuckling in a knowing way.

"If you only knew…

**Flashback**

_**June 2003**_

"Fuck!" No one commented on my choice word was I slammed the bottle of Jack back behind the bar. Everyone fuckin' knew better. I was pissed at myself for fuckin' up and it was common knowledge around these parts that you just didn't fuck with me when I was having an off day. I still couldn't believe I had been so distracted that I used Jack instead of Jim in Pat's drink.

Jerry—my boss—smirked at me from his stool by the till. It was where he spent most of his time on nights like this when he came in to pal around with his friends and watch me work. _Fuckin' old fart! _

"Somethin' on your mind, Jer?" I huffed sarcastically.

Like normal, he just winked at me and shook his head. Jerry was for the most part, a quiet man…but stuff a few cans Coors Light in his face and the man turns into Maury Povich. He had had damn near a case of beer tonight but we both knew he wasn't stupid enough to say anything when I was in this kind of a mood.

Grabbing the correct bottle from under the counter, I fixed my mistake quickly and made sure to tell Pat that he wouldn't be charged for my 'fuck up'. Instead of pouring the shot of Jack I had just poured down the drain, I tossed it back, gagging around the taste. I had never been a sour-mash kind of girl…that shit was nasty!

It had been a long time since I made that kind of mistake behind the bar and didn't catch myself before I served my customer a bad drink—or shot—in this case; so Jerry didn't pitch a fit when he saw me drink it and not pay for it. I kinda needed the drink right now anyway. Fuck, what was one free shot to a customer that had been frequenting this bar for the last fifteen years. Fuck, even I wasn't that loyal and I had been workin' here since I was legal.

"Corner table's wavin' ya down, Lilly Pad." Jerry whispered in my ear. I didn't have to see his face to know he was smirking. The bastard found this amusing, did he? I smacked him in the face with my wet bar rag as I looked up and immediately groaned. Life just wasn't fair sometimes.

Sure enough, that big-muscle-bound hick was wavin' his empty beer bottle in the air like a fuckin' flag of surrender. To my disbelief and annoyance, my mother sat next to him, happily sipping her glass of Blush that Jerry had probably bought at Walmart.

It disgusted me in ways that I'm sure everyone here understood.

_**She**_ was what had me in a shitty mood to begin with. It hadn't even been two hours into my shift when she showed up with her honey of the month, pupils dilated and all. She was fuckin' high again and it pissed me right off. What the fuck she was doin' here anyway eluded me; that old bitch didn't even drink.

The man wavin' me down now was Merle, or so said my Mama when she introduced him. He was a big fucker with an even dirtier mouth than Jack—and that was sayin' somethin'. He—Merle—had tried to strike up a polite conversation, and some—not so polite—conversation with me several times, but he quickly found out that I was no more in the mood to deal with his bullshit than I would be gouging my eyes out with searing-hot pokers. It was almost funny how put out he was by my distaste of him in general.

When he finally realized that I had no intentions of waiting on his table, he got up tromped his big ass across my dirty, peanut-shelled floor and plopped that big country ass of his into the stool right in front of me. He didn't say anything—which was surprising—but his constant staring was starting to piss me off.

"Dollar for your thoughts?" I asked him with a sneer. If he wanted a beer he better get back on that shitty looking Triumph and ride his foul smelling ass back to Trenton, 'cause he wasn't gonna get served here.

The big bastard chuckled slightly, muttering something under his breath before placing that empty bottle of Bud on inside edge of my counter. "Thought it was uh penny?"

Growling slightly, I lifted my head to stare him down, "Yeah, well I always pay more to see the side-show freaks at the carnival."

Hoping to shut him up, I slid an uncapped bottle of Bud his way, not even bothering to charge him for it. The sooner he told me what the fuck he wanted the sooner he could get the fuck out of my face.

"Did ya just imply I's stupid, little girl?" He asked gruffly, his eyes shining in anger. Good, maybe now the meaty fucker realized I didn't wanna be his bestie.

"You hang around my Mama, you can't exactly be bright." I told him, shrugging my shoulders.

He was about to reply, most like to call me a "cunt" or a "bitch", I was sure of it. But his derogatory insult died on his tongue as the double bar doors swung open in walked a sandy haired man, with the bluest eyes I've ever seen and a permanent scowl on his rugged face.

I'm fairly certain my jaw fell into the beer I was pouring and I was possibly drooling too.

He stood there in the doorway for a few seconds, his ocean blue eyes scanning the room once before zeroing in on the bar. I'll admit that I openly ogled him from over my shoulder. He was handsome; around six feet tall, with dirty blond hair and honey tan skin but, it was his cocky gate that did me in…well, until he opened his mouth and ruined it all.

Mystery man caught my gaze over the bar and his lips curled into one of the smuggest smirks, making my face flush hot. Then his eyes shifted to the tree-sized asshole that was still blubberin' to get my attention, and smiled widely.

"Hey bro," he called quietly, saddling up beside the older man.

Instantly, he went from being the hottest guy I'd seen in a good long while—to junior dick at his brother's table.

"What'll ya have?" I asked a little off-putting, but politely.

"Budweiser," he said, his eyes lazily sweeping up and down my body.

I think I growled at him.

He looked at me with confusion but said nothing as I handed him the longneck and turned away. I felt his eyes on my back for a few minutes more before he turned to his redwood sized brother and struck up a conversation about pouring footers and setting rebar.

When I realized that they were both the new guys working for John Logan—on my Father's crew—I wanted to fuckin' hurl that beer bottle straight threw the mirror behind the bar that held Jerry's office. That prick was no doubt, sitting back there with his feet kicked up on the desk and laughing his ass off.

I felt stupid; I should have noticed the shirt when Merle first walked in, but I guess the fact that my geeked-out, pill junky of a mother was dangling off his arm kind of distracted me.

Angrier than I was before, I raced down to the opposite end of the bar and hoped to strike up a conversation with Bobby, Jack, Heidi or Pat and forget about the hot redneck that I would never get to know now.

Pat smiled brightly at my ruffled appearance, sliding his trucker hat from his head and rubbing his fast growing bald spot. Jack chuckled under his breath and Heidi sat there next to him with a lost but happy look on her face—because, well…let's face it, she was trashed.

"Somethin' rufflin' yer feathers this fine evenin', Lil?" Pat asked with a slight slur and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Jack leaned over, whispering something in Pat's ear while his eyes trained down to the other end of the bar where my hot redneck sat. Pat's eyes followed and his smile widened at whatever Jack had told him.

They were bastards; horrible old men, both of them.

Growling at the gossiping older men, I replied. "Nothin' a shot of Jager won't take care of."

"It's on me then," Jack said with a big grin as I tossed him the dice and told him to roll for the jukebox.

Jack was a good man, a bit of a player but a damn good man. Jack was a bit of a spender in Backwoods, and I can't begin to tell you how much tail I've seen the man take out of those front doors because of it. He wasn't a bad looking man for his age; he was just very far from my type.

"_Mother-fucker,"_ I groaned when I thought about the type of man that appealed to me. He was sitting at the other end of my bar, happily chatting up the bane of my existence.

It wasn't long after that when my mother—who must have gotten lonely—plopped her flirty ass right between what I've come to know as the Dixon boys. She feigned hurt when I refused to serve her until I reminded her of what happened the last time she tried mixing alcohol and pills and crank. She shut up after that and Daryl regarded me with a knowing eye.

Things went well for the majority of the night after that, Pat even gave us a drunken strip tease on the pool table on the pool table which sent the entire bar into hysterics.

The Dixon's didn't bother me much but as my regulars started to filter out, I got the feeling of being watched. I looked to Jack—ex special forces—my eyes and ears after dark, and he nodded; apparently he noticed the younger Dixon brother staring too.

Fed up with the all the drama of the night, I jumped up on the bar right in front of "hot redneck" and rang the offensive bell that hung right above him. The crowd cheered as I started passing out the free drinks while the younger Dixon looked confused and Merle shouted something about a table dance. I flipped Merle off and neglected both the Dixon's their free booze.

"What'd ya do to'er?" I heard Daryl—apparently—ask Merle in what he probably thought was a hushed whisper, but between the alcohol in his system and the loud music spilling from the jukebox, it really came out more like a shout.

To hide my laughing face, I turned to Jack and he just chuckled and raised his glass of brandy-wine in celebration of my small victory. It was some disgusting shit, but I poured myself a shot and did it with him anyway.

Not a second later, Merle raised up a gigantic arm, nearly knocking my trashed mother right out of her bar stool. Is it horrible that I would have laughed?

"Alright girly, I got a bone ta pick wit ya!" Merle hollered and winked at me. "A big one."

Jack just shook his head and palmed his face, marveling at the man's idiocy. Merle was a man who was about to have his ass handed to him by a 5-ft-2 barmaid.

Merle smiled lecherously at me as I approached; like the bastard's pig just won first prize at the fair. Daryl was a bit more wary and I think he might of understood what was about to happen a little better than his brother. Even Jerry made reappearance from his office to witness and make sure shit didn't get too out of hand.

"Merle, right?" I asked, glancing at my mother with narrowed eyes; she looked about two seconds from puking all over my floor.

He nodded, all smiles and good humor gone from his face as he waited for me to get to my point. It was probably the only polite thing I'd seen him do all night.

"I'm gonna make this real simple for you so you won't waste any of them brain cells you'll need later when yer sparkin' yer foil…

Daryl's head jerked up, his eyes darting from me to his brothers as he waited with baited breath for some kind of a reaction to my insult.

"The next time ya decided ta come in here with my doped up mother on yer arm, don't!" I snarled.

His face turned a bright shade of red as he opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off with a hand, gesturing to the **"We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone" **sign hanging right behind my head.

"Get the fuck out," I growled, then as an afterthought I pointed to my mother frame slumped over in her stool. "Both of ya."

My Mama looked at me with tears in her eyes but got up and silently made her way out the door, but Merle looked pissed. He looked from me to Daryl—who was smirking again—but made no move to stand alongside his brother as he stood to depart.

He sneered, "Yer a real mouthy fuckin' bitch, ain'tcha?"

"Ya better believe it asshole, now make like a bunny and hop the fuck outta here!" I told him as I caught Jack starting to stand out of my peripheral vision. I held my hand for him to wait, and he did but he remained standing.

Merle left, grudgingly he headed for the door but not before calling back over his shoulder as he stopped just short of opening the door.

"Have fun, little brother, her pussy's got be tighter than her Mama's even if she is a cunt."

Jerry and Jack both raced for me…but it was too late, my body lurched forward and the shot glass in my hand hurled forward and shattered against the swinging door where Merle had just stood.

The bar went totally silent for a full minute before cheers erupted from all around me. Jerry stood behind me chuckling as he filled a large tub with chilled Jagermeister and told me to take a ten minute brake.

Without word, I left out the back door. The ally was still teaming with cars, some from my late night patrons and some left over from my regulars that lacked the driving capabilities to get themselves home that night. I laughed as I noticed Pat's rig still sitting in the parking lot and I wondered if it was him or Heidi that got the pleasure of driving her Toyota home. It didn't really matter who drove, the truck was always sitting somewhere on their property when I drove past each night. Though, there was that one amusing night when I did happen to notice Heidi's truck sitting in the middle of their front porch…she'll never live that down.

The roar of the jukebox and the sound of the back door slamming shut startled me from my musings, along with the flick of a bic lighter. I looked up, not really concerned but a little surprised that Daryl had chosen to follow me out after I had just hurled a shot glass at his brother's head.

"You the reason that sign says: Beware of Bartender?" He asked quietly.

Laughing a little at his amused face, I replied, "Sure am, almost four years runnin'."

Yeah, I was a little proud of that fact. It might not sound like much to anyone else but I was proud that I could keep old dickheads that acted like children in line. I thought of my part-time job as a Daycare for Adults.

"Four years, huh? Just how old are ya?" He asked, his eyes searching mine.

"Twenty-three, almost twenty-four. You?"

"Twenty-eight." He replied, blowing out a gust of air that strangely sounded like a sigh of relief.

I laughed, "Was that relief I heard, Dixon?"

"Kinda," he muttered, "Would have felt kinda wrong askin' ya out if ya weren't legal."

Brushing past the fact that he had inadvertently made a pass at me, I blurted out the first thing that sprang to mind. "I work in a bar, Daryl."

He just shrugged his shoulders as he thrust his thumb into his mouth and goin' ta town like he was in a rib eatin' contest. I almost felt bad when I realized I had made him nervous.

"So will ya?" He asked suddenly, looking down on me with those heavenly baby blues.

"What?" I asked thoroughly confused. Did he ask me something?

He shrugged again, toeing his boot into the gravel of the parking lot. "Ya'know, let me buy ya din—

"Daryl," I cut him off there. I hated to do this, because let's face it, I was already smitten with this Hillbilly Devil and I hardly knew anything about him. "Don't waste yer breath, the answers no."

"No," he parroted as his face fell. "Is it 'cause of my brother?"

"No," I replied, shaking my head as I stood. "It's because you work for John Logan. I have no interest in some fling. I've spent my entire adult life fendin' off Logan's boys and I'm not gonna fuck that up now. They should have warned ya."

I gripped his shoulder, popping up on my toes to kiss the mole that made his smirk curl just a little more as I whispered. "I'm sorry, Daryl, I really do like you."

Without word, I turned from him and went back inside.

**~(Author's notes)~**

Well, what did everyone think of Lillian's first meet with the Dixon's. Now obviously there is more to this back story—and it will be posted in flashbacks throughout the story.

Hope everyone enjoyed.

LittleRin26


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, ect., are the property of their respective owners. The original character and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary: **Some only see the pain behind a scar. For some they are worn in honor; proud badges of victory and bravery. For Lillian James Harper, they are a mark of survival. Every scar has a story, this one is hers.

**Warning: **This fan-fiction is rated Mature for Language, Gore and Adult Situations. Readers under the age of 18 are strongly discouraged from reading.

**Pairing: **Daryl x Lillian James Harper

Chapter Five

**~The scars of others should teach us caution. –St. Jerome~**

Neither Daryl nor Merle had returned last night and it left me in less than a stellar mood for most of the day. I slept like shit, being all alone in my tent, but it was nice to be around people again…even if they were all driving me crazy.

It was nice to be around semi-normal people again, to belong somewhere. Everyone in this rag-tag little group seemed to have wandered into the main part of camp and were all busy off in their own little world. Lori and Shane were around the main fire-pit with Carl, cracking jokes as Lori cut her son's hair. Morales' kids were playing tag with Sophia—Carol and Ed's daughter.

Shane had just said something about frog-giggin' when the man I was introduced to as Dale suddenly stood up on the roof of his R.V., looking concerned. I thought I had been losing my mind when I first heard the car alarm, at least now I knew that I wasn't the only one.

Shane, seeing Dale's distress, jumped up immediately. "Talk to me Dale."

Everyone became panicked, myself included as I jumped to my feet, reading my weapon and looked to Dale for any signs of trouble.

"Can't tell just yet." He said, holding out his binoculars to look down to the road.

Amy—Andrea's sister—looked frantic as she strutted up the motor home. "Is it them? Are they back?"

"I'll be damned," Dale muttered under his breath, which had me just as anxious and confused as the others.

Using my hand as protection against the blinding afternoon sun, I had to ask, "What is it?"

"Stolen car would be my guess." He replied, looking down at me, disbelief shining in his big brown eyes.

"Dumbass," I scoffed, wondering who would be stupid enough to bring so much noise back to camp. Then of course my preservation instincts kicked in and I drew Merle's pistol from my side holster. Whoever this was, they might not be one of ours, and there was no telling if they would be friendly.

Everyone stood with watchful, mistrusting gazes as the red Dodge Charger sped into camp. In fact, nobody said anything until the driver came into view. It was the Asian kid. Glenn, I think his name was; I was still a little goofed up on Merle's pain pills this morning when proper interdictions were being made.

"Holy crap, turn that damn thing off!" Dale yelled as he and the rest of the group swarmed around the kid.

Shane was yelling—no big surprise there—demanding that the kid pop the hood, while Amy was grappling at his shirt, grilling him at the speed of light about her sister's whereabouts.

The next few minutes were nothing but a blur of shouting and the blare of a car alarm. Suddenly, I wished that I had gone hunting with Daryl this morning. How did he stand this for so long without killing anybody?

Finally, Jim found the power box to the alarm, disarming it and most fell silent. Amy was still demanding to know if her sister was safe and wanting to know why she wasn't with him. I felt for the girl, I really did, but her blatant ignorance regarding the safety of the others who were also obviously missing raised my hackles a bit.

I gritted my teeth against the angry rebuttal that stung my tongue like acid. Did she understand that if she'd just shut up for a few minutes, Glenn would most likely tell her everything she needed to know?

A few minutes later the white Fernec truck that the group had been using for supply runs pulled up, and I breathed a sigh of relief as everyone began pouring out.

The sister's shared a tear filled reunion, hugging like they hadn't seen each other for years as everyone else in the group congratulated the scavenging party on their finds. There was just one problem with all of this; I didn't see Merle.

Just as I was about to ask the others where he was, I heard Merle say something about a new guy.

"Helicopter guy." He called him.

He was a lean man, with a handsome face and gentle eyes. All of a sudden Carl—Lori's son—charged forward screaming "Dad!"

It confused the hell out of me because Lori had told me her husband died in a hospital from a gunshot wound in some small town west of here. But nothing ruffled my feathers like the look Shane got on his face when he saw the blue-eyed man. He looked torn; happy and excited to see the man alive…but he also looked angry, resentful and incredibly guilty.

I guess it made sense; Daryl had told me something about Shane and Lori having a relationship…well, he said they fucked in the woods a lot.

"_At least someone's getting it," _I grumbled to myself as the couple embraced.

As the others continued smiling and hugging, I turned to Glenn, "Excuse me, but where's Merle?"

"Um," Glenn said, nervously scratching at his head. "There was an accident—

He didn't say another word, and I didn't want to hear them either. I would find out what happened to him later, right now…I needed to breathe.

"Disoriented. I guess that comes closest. Disoriented." Rick paused as we all sat quietly around the fire and listened to his story.

The man had woken up in a coma in a walker infested hospital, I could scarcely believe he had lived, especially waking up and not understanding all that had happened.

"Fear, confusion, all those things, but disoriented comes closest."

Dale muttered something quietly to himself about things falling short.

"I felt like I'd been ripped out of my life and for a while I felt like I was…trapped, in some coma dream—

I drifted off after that, not really paying attention to anybody. It was day two and Daryl still hadn't returned from his hunting trip. I couldn't believe I was destined to stumble across his camp just to lose him the next day; the fate's just couldn't be that cruel, could they? As I listened, I tried not to think about Merle—or Daryl—for that matter, or how much this was going to break his heart when he found out Merle was gone.

Flaming embers flashed before my eyes, snapping me out of my morose thoughts as they singed my hair and licked at my face. Ed—Carol's douche-bag husband stood there not giving a shit if he burned his daughter as he unceremoniously tossed another log into the fire.

"He Ed, wanna rethink that log?" Shane asked from behind me.

"It's cold, man," Ed excused himself, as he sat his lazy, fat ass back down in his lawn chair like he was at the Saturday night drive-in.

If there was anyone in this rag-tag group of survivors that I hated, it was Edward Peletier. He was a chauvinistic pig of proportions I didn't even think existed anymore; I thought they had died out with the cavemen. He treated his wife and daughter like they were his personal slaves, and I was pretty damn sure he was beating them both on a regular bases. Merle might be a piece of work, but even _**he**_ didn't treat women like that.

Shane sighed, leaning forward so his head was closer to my ear. "Cold don't change the rules, does it?"

For the first time since meeting Shane, I felt pity for him. It was obvious from the jump that having to tell Ed anything would be like scolding a cinderblock.

"We keep our fires low so they can't be seen from a distance, right?"

"I said it's cold," Ed interrupted, turning his head so he wouldn't have to look Shane in the eye.

What a fuckin' pussy. I bristled at the comment. Here I was, along with all the woman in the group, seriously underweight but not saying a thing, and there he was complaining about being cold. I just bet that fat prick beat on his woman because he couldn't go toe-to-toe with a real man.

"Why don't ya mind yer own business for once." Ed spat, still not looking at the man who addressing him.

I peered over my shoulder at Shane, and though he smiled at me, it was obvious that he was fast losing his temper.

Not a second later, Shane jumped to his feet and strutted toward the fat man—as much as I disliked him in general, I was sad to see his body heat go; the man was like a walking talking furnace.

T-dog chuckled, slightly palming his face to hide it and in doing so covering the bruises on his face that he seemed to have acquired somewhere on the trip to Atlanta. He didn't tell and I didn't ask; it wasn't my business anyway. Glenn looked like he wanted a bowl of pop-corn and Rick and Lori just smiled to each other in a knowing way. Well duh, it didn't take a fuckin' genius to figure out Shane had a short fuse. Dale just chuckled along with Andrea and shook his head.

From across the fire, Shane leaned down and spoke to Ed in a tone too quiet for my ears to pick up. It was really too bad Daryl wasn't here; that man had ears and a nose a dog would envy. Ed said nothing in response—that much I could pick up myself—and looked across to Carol who immediately got up and bent to retrieve the burning log—showcasing a nasty bruise that started at the base of her hip. I could only imagine how she came by it.

As Shane returned to his spot behind me, Dale spoke up, grabbing my attention. "Have you given any thought to Daryl Dixon? He won't be happy when he hears his brother was left behind."

"What the fuck do ya mean, left behind?" I snapped and T-dog winced next to me. It was only then that it dawned on me just how T had gotten that nasty fat lip.

He didn't answer me directly, but then again, he didn't have to either. I had a fairly good idea of what happened now.

"I'll tell him. I dropped the key, it's on me." He said remorsefully.

"Key?" I asked, standing up and looking down my nose at him.

He nodded as Rick filled me in on how Merle went crazy on the rooftop of a building they were trapped in. I don't think the man understood just what the Dixon's meant to me when he described restraining him and handcuffing him to a pipe on that roof, if he had, I don't think he would have mentioned it quite so crudely.

T-dog and Rick continued to argue over who was gonna be the biggest martyr for the sake of the group and I was just about to lose my patience when Glenn spoke up.

"Guys, this isn't a competition and I don't mean to bring race into this but maybe it would be better if came from the white guy."

My blood boiled in my veins as I turned my head towards the fire, hoping to find something to distract me so I didn't attack someone and become walker bait myself.

"Just because Merle could be a raciest bastard doesn't mean Daryl is. It isn't gonna matter who tells him. Ya'll left his brother ta die, the man's gonna be pissed either way." I spat.

T-dog raised his head proudly, if not stupidly. If I were that man, I'd be hiding under a rock for the foreseeable future. "I did what I did. Ain't gonna hide from it."

"We could lie." Amy offered.

My head snapped in her direction. "Over my dead body. He deserves to know the truth about his brother."

"She's right," Andrea agreed, "We tell him the truth. Merle was out of control and nearly got us all killed. If it's anyone's fault that Merle got left behind, it's Merle's."

Dale went pale. "And this is what we tell Daryl?" He asked incredulously. "Word to the wise but where gonna have our hands full when he gets back from his hunt."

"Maybe she should tell him," Andrea said, pointing to me with a stick. "I mean she's close with the Dixon's, right?"

Bristling, I growled. "She has a name and it's Lillian. Don't be rude and don't be a coward. Whether or not Merle was wrong or right, he was still a human being who has a family who loves him. Now yer all have a discussion about how yer gonna justify leavin' him on a rooftop to my fiancé because yer scared and ya expect me ta help ya? Fuckin' cowards, all of ya."

Andrea stood up, suddenly all Mighty Mouse and got right in my face. "The Dixon's have been nothing but trouble and I'm sure that everyone agrees with me when I say that neither Dixon would be missed."

Growling, I stepped straight into the firelight, making sure she got a good look at my face as I pulled my hunting knife from the sheath at my hip. "Unless ya want yer face ta look just like mine, I suggest ya sit yer ass down and shut yer fuckin' mouth, blondie."

She went to say something else but Rick stood up and declared that enough was enough. Shane was still chuckling at my back, but for some reason, I don't think he was laughing at me.

With one more glare, I spat at her feet and returned to my tent, having nothing left to say to the lot of them. I'm sure that if I had remained out there, Daryl would be definitely attending a funeral when he returned.

My chest throbbed painfully and instinctively my shaking fingers found the scar that ran the length of my breast bone. "Where are you, Daryl?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, ect., are the property of their respective owners. The original character and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary: **Some only see the pain behind a scar. For some they are worn in honor; proud badges of victory and bravery. For Lillian James Harper, they are a mark of survival. Every scar has a story, this one is hers.

**Warning: **This fan-fiction is rated Mature for Language, Gore and Adult Situations. Readers under the age of 18 are strongly discouraged from reading.

**Pairing: **Daryl x Lillian James Harper

Chapter Six

**~Some animals are equal but some more equal than others. –George Orewell~**

Having slept like shit the night before, I was all but dragging my sorry carcass out of bed the next morning, feeling sluggish and right pissed off.

All night I had lain awake, trying to find the right way to break the news about Merle to Daryl. Honestly, it wasn't worth the effort. I had been truthful the night before when I told the group it wasn't gonna matter who told him; none of us would be able to stop his anger, and at this point, I wasn't even sure I wanted to try.

The rest of my night was spent trying to get a handle my own emotions; trying to put myself in their shoes and all that. While I completely understood what Merle could be like when he was all drugged up and acting like a fool, he was still my family and those bastards left him chained to a rooftop like the goat in Jurassic Park. Merle would always be a dick—I had no delusions otherwise—but that dick was my brother and he had saved my ass more time than I could count; if the group didn't like Daryl or our family…well then, _tough titty_.

It was an easy decision to stay away from the rest of the campers this morning. I knew full well what would happen should I cross anyone of them in the mood I was in. So, I opted to skip breakfast and anything else that had been dubbed "women's work" for chopping firewood instead.

On any other day—preferably when these people hadn't just killed a member of my family—I would have happily accompanied Carol while she worked over the camp fire or mending socks, but right now I needed to do something a little bit more physical. Not to mention doing anything resembling _women's work_ would mean I would cross paths with Andrea, and after last night's little spat I doubted the woman wanted to see me anymore than I wanted to see her.

"_God, I really have to get a better handle on my mouth,"_ I chastised quietly.

As the sun filtered through the rest of last night's rain clouds, I kept chopping. I mused to myself while I worked, that if I kept up this pace we'd have enough wood to last us through winter. This was exactly what I needed, to distract me, to release my anger and calm me. I would have done anything at that point to keep from thinking about Daryl's face when _**we**_—most likely _**me**_—told him that this group had left his brother for dead.

My loud morning activities must have woken Responsible Rick because he exited his tent a few minutes later stretching like he had just had the best sleep of his life. It didn't help my present mood since he was mostly at fault for my own sleepless night.

"Mornin'," He greeted with a smile. I couldn't help the funny look I gave him.

It was strange having so many people smiling at me so often. I guess I had gotten used to people either being frightened of me or disgusted; now I didn't know how to respond. It didn't help that I was already extremely aggravated with him.

But, I was the newbie around here and the Dixon's—myself included—weren't exactly bucking for the congeniality award. So those reason and many more, I decided to put my best booted foot forward instead of sticking it straight up Rick's ass.

"Mornin'," I replied a little testily, but at least I tried to plaster on a fake smile.

Points for effort and all that.

His genuine smile dropped and was replaced by a frown of remorse. His blue eyes regarded me carefully before he bowed his head. "I'm sorry."

Seriously? I was beginning to think that was all the man could actually say to me. He had been belting out apologizes since I met him. He was starting to sound like a broken record.

For a cop he wasn't _**so**_ bad, he wasn't like some of the ones I've met in…well, never mind.

"No," I sighed, shaking my head. "You were just trying to keep the others safe, I understand better than just about anyone what Merle Dixon is like when he's high. It's not really you I'm mad at."

He looked confused as he studied my face; like he couldn't make out who it was I was angry at if not him. I knew he was about to probably open his mouth and defend T-dog or Andrea, but anything he might have said died when the screams of the children broke the peaceful quiet of our camp.

Dropping my hand from Rick's arm, I gripped my axe handle tighter and sprinted off in the direction of the quarry. The sounds of gnashing teeth hit my ears about the same time as the putrid smell of rotting flesh.

Wrinkling my nose in disgust, I tramped down the urge to dry heave. It didn't matter how many of those nasty things I've come across, the smell was always surprisingly bad…it never got any better. Those things were rank.

The group was silent with Rick in the lead until we reached the snarling sounds of a walker just beyond the trees and by the sounds it was making, I'd say it already had itself dinner.

"_God, I hope it ain't one of the kids," _I murmured quietly, wincing to myself. Fuck, someone could have overheard that little comment and I could have easily started a panic that would get one of us killed.

Fortunately for me, no one heard my comment and the walker—somehow—remained blissfully unaware of our presence. I had to wonder—was this geek somehow mentally unstable in life or perhaps deaf, because that scream made by Carl and Sophia should have rang the proverbial dinner bell.

As it was, the walker was on its knees feasting off the flesh of a doe. It had already gnawed halfway through the poor things neck and its boney, emaciated hand digging through the animal's entrails.

It took me a moment to wrap my head around what I was seeing, dread filling the pit of my stomach as my eyes locked onto the bright fletching of a very familiar bolt.

"_Daryl…"_ I whispered.

Damn, this wasn't gonna be pleasant. That arrow definitely signified that Daryl would be along shortly and when he did things weren't gonna be pretty. If I knew Daryl, he was already gonna be pissed off about the deer and that was just gonna be a start to a very shitty morning.

The rest of the group stood there gaping at the sight like a bunch of fuckin' idiots, watching the walker that was dressed in what was once a nice business suit.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at this very inappropriate time, but I just couldn't help sniggering to myself. Here we were standing around watching the walker eat Daryl's deer; just starting at the thing as it ate away at our resources like it was feedin' time at the local zoo.

What was next? Were we gonna share a bowl of popcorn and watch it eat the children?

When the walker finally turned to us and growled it seemed to snap Rick and the others out of whatever funk they were experiencing and he was the first to crack it in the head. The other followed suit when they seemed to realize we weren't here to take in dinner and a show, but when they did…it was frenzied and uncoordinated.

Personally, I wasn't goin' anywhere near that fucked up swingin' circle. I had my axe at the ready and my gun was loaded at my side, but I had no intentions of entering _that_ and getting my head taking off by some asshole swinging blindly. The last thing this camp needed was for Daryl come back to find my head was taken off by some stupid prick who thought he was Rambo; that would not have ended well.

Dale—to my surprise—was the one who finally decapitated the geek. I smiled to myself as I thought of all the Big Strong Men in this camp and it was a crazy old snowbird from Michigan that finally brought down the walker with an axe. Hell, I was downright impressed. Sadly, you could tell it bothered him a great deal to end that life. He had gone exceedingly pale in the face and looked like his heart was breaking.

Personally, I didn't get it. I mean, I understood the value of human life but as far as I was concerned those things were no longer people…but if you wanted to look at them in that way, well, I thought of it as a mercy to put them out of their misery.

"That's the first one we've had up here," Dale panted, obviously still struggling to get ahold of himself after the adrenaline wore off.

I knew that feeling intimately.

"They never come this far up the mountain."

"They're runnin' out of food in the city, that's why." Jim commented, his face twisting up into a grimace as he stared down at the headless corpse.

"Maybe we should think—

Shane started to speak—no doubt to impart us with some of his worldly wisdom—but was cut off by a rustling from the brush not ten feet from where we were standing. It reminded us—with a good panic attack—that this geek might not have been by his lonesome.

Gripping my axe tighter, I tuned out everyone's breathing and focused on the trees in front of us. I could hear footfalls, but it wasn't the shuffling feet of a walker. They were steady and moving quickly, and the slight hitch in this person's gate—due to having a broken hip bone that hadn't healed properly—had me smiling.

With an amused smile, I started forward only to be met with resistance as Rick grabbed my arm. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, looking baffled by what I was doing.

"Lillian—

He started but stilled his tongue when Daryl broke through the tree-line, cursing under his breath the whole way.

Everyone—including myself—seemed to breathe easier. It was a relief to know Daryl was safe and back at camp but the others were happy that it was just my irritable hunter coming out of those woods and not another walker. I had news for them though, their relief was about to be very short lived.

When Daryl found out about Merle, that walker would be the least of their troubles. These people had no doubt seen plenty of Daryl's cranky mood-swings –or so I had been told _frequently_—but cranky Daryl had nothing on a pissed off one.

Marching straight passed the group of thunder-struck campers, Daryl headed straight for his desecrated prize.

"Sum'bitch," he cursed as he crouched, taking in the deer's ruined remains. "That's my deer!"

Had this been any other situation I would have been laughing my ass off. Leave it to Daryl to yell at a dead walker over a deer carcass.

"Look at it," He whined, nudging the dead animal with the toe of his boot. "All gnawed on by this piece of shit, dieses barin', motherless, proxy bastard!"

"_What a baby,"_ I mumbled, scratching at the back of my neck as he yelled, kicking the body of the walker several times in what I understood as Daryl's way of making himself feel better.

"That's not helping, son," Dale said as he stepped forward, reaching out to take Daryl's arm. The childish side of me wanted to dance around and sing, _I wouldn't do that…_ but I settled for an eye roll and braced myself for when Daryl snapped.

What do you know 'bout it, Old man?" Daryl snarled, puffing out his chest in the way that clearly stated that he was done putting up with Dale's coddling.

_Wonderful_, I thought to myself. _He's already in a mood._

With the intentions of giving the old man a break—and perhaps to get Daryl's temper back down to a rolling boil before all hell broke loose—I stepped forward and grabbed a hold of one of his thick arms. Thankfully, he stepped away from the conflict without question and turned to quickly kiss my cheek.

"Hey babe, do anythin' useful whiles I was gone?" He asked in a quiet whisper as he winked at me, waggling his eyebrows and making me laugh. I knew what he was asking—the fuckin' pervert.

"Maybe," I returned with my own sultry smirk, thinking _two can play at this game. _Of course _my teasing _only made him scowl at me. We hadn't had sex since before the outbreak hit, so it was fair to say that we were both wound tighter than piano strings and I was playing with fire. Had I dared to do this to him while we were alone, he'd have had my clothes gone and my ass pinned to a tree so fast my head would spin. It was kind a like poking a wild dog; sooner or later you were gonna get bit.

It was too bad that I really like it when he bites. Besides, he was gonna be pissed as Hell in a few minutes, anyway—might as well have a little fun with him while I could.

His blue eyes pinned mine for a minute more, telling me without words that I was in a heap of trouble later. When he looked away, that same pissed off pout reappeared on his face as he reached down to remove his bolts from the carcass.

"I've been trackin' this deer for miles. Was gonna drag it back ta camp, cook us up sum venison." He said crouching low to ground, sneer firmly fixed on his face.

"What do ya think, think we could cut 'round this chewed up part?" He asked looking up to me.

My nose curled and I had to grasp my stomach to keep from vomiting. Really, Daryl?

"Couldn't risk it." Thank you, Shane.

It seemed to be unanimous because everyone was vigorously nodding their heads in agreement with Shane—including myself. That was just nasty.

"Damn shame," Daryl murmured, eyeing his ruined trophy with longing. He was so damned cute when he pouted.

"Got us some squirrel, 'bout a dozen or so, it'll have ta do." He said, perking up as he adjusted the critter-baring twine on his shoulder.

I smiled at him. Only Daryl would be so happy about eating squirrel meat.

Something snapping at my feet drew my attention away from Daryl's face and back down to the walker—or should I say; the dismembered head—as it tried to make a meal out of the steel toe of my boot.

Lurching backwards, I growled and drew my axe above my head, ready to swing but the 'shink' of Daryl's crossbow beat me too it.

"Come on people, what the Hell?" He groused as he removed his bolt with a squish. My stomach rolled, but it didn't seem to bother Daryl as he continued to scold us. "It's gotta be the brain. Don't ya'll know nothin'?"

All eyes turned to me as Daryl grabbed my hand and started towards camp, shouting for Merle to get his lazy as up as he went.

"Daryl," I whimpered, the sting of tears blurring my vision as I yanked on his hand and drew his attention to my face.

His eyes immediately zoned in my tears, "What's a matter?"

Shanking my head, I tried to form words…but nothing would come out, "I-I need to talk to you."

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that we now had the audience of the entire camp. I wanted to yell, to tell those nosy pricks to go away. I might have felt differently if I knew they weren't all out here just for curiosities sake; none of them really cared about Daryl's feelings…they just wanted to see the UFC drama. It wasn't going to help anybody to have this many people as witness to Daryl losing his temper.

"Babe?" He questioned, one brow cocked in concern. His eyes were pleading with me to tell him how to fix the problem.

"There was a problem in Atlanta," I blurted, shakily with more tears spilling from my eyes. "Merle's not here."

"He dead?" He asked with a terse jerk of his chin, tears already forming wet rings around his eyes.

My eyes caught T-dog's as he made his way into camp, a load of firewood—probably intended for me—under his arm. I looked to him with pleading eyes, begging him to explain what I couldn't.

It made me feel guilty that I couldn't explain to Daryl what had happened 'cause I hadn't stuck around to hear it all myself. My temper had gotten the better of me and truthfully, I had no idea what was going on or what I should tell him now.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully, hoping he would understand that I wasn't in the best form to hear any of these people out.

Daryl's eyes cut from mine over to T-dog, Rick and Shane—who were all milling about looking more guilty than any man should. Daryl's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he licked his bottom lip. I could almost see the cogs turning in his mind, connecting the dots. Then, I saw certainty there…he knew, without anyone telling him, he knew. He looked straight into my eyes with a lifted brow before cutting his eyes to me and back again. It was a silent question…and it was a question I would answer truthfully…fuck the rest of them.

I nodded.

To everyone else in the group it would seem that Daryl was taking the news rather well, but I knew better. I could see the signs, the red splotches that broke out across his neck and cheeks; it was a sure way to tell that Daryl was about to lose it. If it had just been one of Daryl's temper tantrums than I wouldn't have been worried, but Daryl was about to lose his shit in a way that even scared the Hell out of me.

"He either is or he ain't," Daryl spat over my head, directing his angry voice towards the two cowardly men at my back. He was speaking to them now, after all.

Renewing my faith a little, Rick stepped forward and took some of the responsibility on himself. "There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just say it."

"Who're you?" Daryl spat as he gripped my arm hard and pulled me behind him.

_Not good. Not good. Not good._

"Rick Grimes," he offered. Rather politely too, for a man who might just get his head caved-in in the next few minutes.

"Rick Grimes?" Daryl scoffed, shaking his head as he approached the officer like an angry bear. "You got somethin' ya wanna tell me?"

My eyes searched Rick's catching his worried gaze and I frantically shook my head in warning. I could only hope he got the memo and didn't decide to do something stupid, like tell Daryl that Merle was a deviant to society.

"Your brother was a danger to us all," he started in his best do-gooder voice as he took a step in Daryl's direction.

With an annoyed groan, I palmed my face in exasperation. I knew the man was just trying to do the right thing…but come on! This was not going to end well.

"So I handcuffed him to a roof, hooked on a piece of metal. He's still there."

My head snapped up, my brows furrowed as I tried to make sense of what Rick just said. This was all news to me as I was under the assumption that Merle was already as good as walker chow when the group booked it out of town.

"Hold on," Daryl snapped suddenly, startling me. "Let me process this. Yer sayin' ya handcuffed _my brother_ to a _roof_, **and you left him there!**"

His voice was rising with every word he spoke right along with his blood pressure. His face had gone from blotchy to completely beet red in a matter of seconds and I knew this little pow-wow was about to escalate into more than words.

My eyes remained trained on Daryl's back as I waited for him to pounce. I knew it was coming, I could literally feel it in the air. Everything about him at the moment screamed anger; from the way his hands were balled into tight fists at his sides right down to the coiled muscles in his back, stretched tight with tension. He was wound so tight I was actually worried he might hurt himself.

For the first time since I met Officer Rick Grimes, I absolutely respected him. I knew the man wasn't stupid enough to not understand what was coming. He knew Daryl would explode and yet, here he was ready to take his lumps.

Rick's blue eyes regarded me for only a moment before he sighed, "Yeah."

It was a showdown from that moment on. Rick was stealing glances at Shane. Shane was alternating his gaze from Daryl to me and back again. T-dog had his eyes trained on Daryl and Daryl was glaring at everybody but me. It seemed like forever as we waited for the clock on the bomb to wind down but within seconds the twine of squirrels hit the ground and I knew it was over.

Like a tiger, Daryl lunged for Rick and for a moment I thought Officer Friendly was just gonna take his ass-beatin' without word, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Shane. His reaction was faster than I thought it would be and not a second later he had Daryl wrestling on the ground.

"Daryl!" I yelled, rushing forward as I saw the glint of his blade. As much as Rick could stand to do with a black eye, Daryl seriously didn't need to stab anyone.

Shane and T-dog were busy trying to get a better hold on Daryl when Shane saw the knife for himself and yelled, "Watch the knife!"

It was a blur of arms and legs as the Rick, T-dog and Shane tried to get Daryl under control. I stood by, watching until Shane locking Daryl in a chokehold finally stopped the brawl.

"Best let me go!" Daryl roared as he struggled against Shane's grip.

For anyone who didn't know Daryl personally they would have never caught the panic that flashed in his eyes the moment Shane's large arms wound around his neck. Of course they wouldn't know that Daryl's daddy had nearly killed him once when he was just a kid. The bastard was just drunk and thought wrestling his eight year old boy in the middle of the night would be a funny parlor trick for his friends. Long story short, he took it too far and if it hadn't have been for Merle coming home—equally wasted—Daryl wouldn't be here today.

"Naw," Shane grunted, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I don't think I will."

Sadly for Shane, I did know about _**it**_ and when I saw that horrified look in Daryl's eyes something in me…snapped.

Before I could even stop to consider the consequences of my actions, Merle's pistol was out my side holster with the safety off and a round in the chamber. It was also pointed at Shane's head.

"Let'em up, Walsh!"

Shane's dark eyes met mine and for a moment a look of admiration passed over his face before it settled back into a fierce scowl.

"What are you doing? Put that away!" Lori demanded.

Smirking, I parroted Shane's smartass comment. "Naw, I don't think I will."

"We can talk about this." Rick—ever the negotiator—said quietly. "Please put the gun down."

"Let'em up." I repeated, shaking my head. "I didn't walk my happy ass all over the state of Georgia to get cut up and nearly raped by some wacko freaks just so you could strangle the only family I have just after I found him. Now, Let. Him. Go."

Rick nodded to Shane. "Let him go."

Daryl wheezed for several minutes after Shane let him go and as promised, I immediately secured my weapon and rushed to Daryl's side.

"I'll explain later," I told Rick quietly as I brushed by him, hoping he'd understand. After all, I didn't want him to think I was psychotic because I _wasn't _and contrary to popular belief, neither was Daryl. He looked at me curiously for a second before he had some sort of an epiphany and nodded with a slight smile. I had no idea what in the Hell he could be thinking, but at this point—I didn't really care either.

"It's not Rick's fault," T-dog said, cautiously stepping closer. "I had the key, I dropped it."

Daryl, who was still on his knees gasping, looked up at him with disbelief. "Ya couldn't pick it up?"

I dropped it down a drain." T replied with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

Daryl looked from T-dog to me before turning on his heels and letting out a choked up sob. His arm extended backwards, reaching out for me and when I grasped his hand he squeezed it tightly.

"If that's supposed ta make me feel better, it don't." He spat as he stood up and tucked me under his arm.

T-dog took another tentative step forward and quickly added, "I chained the door to the roof so the geeks couldn't get at him. With a padlock."

Rick—who must have seen some heavenly light at the end of the tunnel—tacked on, "That's got to count for somethin'."

Daryl just shook his head, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. It hit me hard that I had seen Daryl cry more in the last couple of days than I had ever seen him in the entire eight and a half years I'd known him.

He furiously rubbed at his red eyes with his free hand, and wailed. "To Hell with all o' ya'll! Jus' tell me where he is so I can go get'em."

Surprisingly it was Lori who stepped forward, "He'll show you."

Completely overcome with shock, I stood there gaping at the woman like she was the Blessed Virgin Mary. I could've really given a shit less that she was only saying that to sooth her guilty conscience—or perhaps even to save her husband's ass, whatever her reasoning, she put a spark in her husband's eye that I was appreciative for. The sheer thought of being his old do-gooder-self had lit a fire under that man's ass, which meant he would be helping and Daryl wouldn't be running the geek infested streets of Atlanta by himself.

As this was proclaimed by the Queen-Bee, the group all wore matching expressions of confusion and distaste. I could see it in their eyes, not one of them thought it was worth risking bodies and resources for a men like Merle or Daryl. Every one of them could kiss my Redneck-lovin', Hillbilly ass.

I had news for all of them though, should the same fate befall Daryl out there…I really _**would**_ slit all their throats in the middle of the night, starting with Rick's wife.

**~(Author's Notes)~**

I wanted to thank all of you who have reviewed, favorited and who are following this story...I means a lot that you all are enjoying.

For those of you who are interested in more pictures of Lillian and Daryl or any of my other OC Characters that will be along in future chapters, please visit my blog at www . scarsofsurvival . blogspot . com

As always please remove the spaces.

LittleRin26


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